Grievances and Miracles
by lyn
Summary: In which tensions boil over. Starring Zuko and Katara, but not exactly a Zutara story.


Grievances and Miracles

That evening, the group gathered around their campfire to eat. The meal was their usual: vegetarian stew, cobbled together from the surrounding forests and boiled by Katara. Upon seeing everyone's slightly disappointed faces, Sokka promised hand-caught fish tomorrow.

The meal was silent. Zuko sipped the bland soup quietly, and couldn't help but feel that the silence was because of him. Whenever he looked up from his bowl, he caught someone staring, until it seemed as though the entire circle sat in judgment (well, except Toph). He expected to have trouble fitting in, but the wall of uncomfortable silence was worse than he imagined. Finally, he cleared his throat, and said, "Aang did really well today."

Eager to induce positivity, Aang smiled and said, "Thanks, Sifu Hotman!"

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Zuko said, without rancor.

"He can call you whatever he wants," Katara snapped, glaring at Zuko over the edges of her bowl. "He's just a kid."

"I'm not a kid ..." Aang murmured.

Zuko set his jaw. He would not be baited. "You're right, Katara. My mistake."

"That's right, I'm right," she said, and then grumbled into her soup, "Jerkbender."

The muscles in his jaw twitched. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled. Unfortunately, his exercise caused the campfire's flames to swell and burst, showering the group with tiny cinders. Soup bowls clattered to the stone floor as (completely unwarranted) panic reigned, with everyone (save Zuko, who knew better) hastily patting themselves down for fear of catching fire.

"Am I burning?" Sokka shrieked, slipping on a puddle of spilled stew, pulling frantically on his wolftail. "I smell burning!"

"We're still right beside the fire," Toph said. "Relax."

"Sorry," Zuko said. "I guess that's my fault."

Katara looked about ready to make good on her recent threat. She was itching, anxious to find a reason to evict him from the group, and probably the mortal coil as well. He was aware of this. He only wished she'd stop looking so hard.

Zuko left the circle and went to sit by Appa, who was munching hay placidly.

"Hi," Zuko said.

"Nnaargh," the bison replied.

Zuko leaned against the cool stone of a broken pillar. He couldn't help but agree.

"Look at the mess he made!" Katara cried. She picked up all the overturned bowls and stacked them neatly, then pulled the veggie-filled water from the floor and tossed it over the nearest edge. "And he didn't even help clean up."

Sokka blinked. "What's there to clean?"

"That's not the point, is it?!"

"Katara, don't you think you're being a little hard on him?" Aang said, glancing over to where Zuko hid in the darkness, eyes shut, brow weary.

"_No._" She turned her back on the both of them, focusing her agitation at some point deep in the canyon. "If anything, you're all being too nice. It's like everyone's forgotten what he's done and it's all just happy sunshine time around here."

"You don't have to forget what someone's done to forgive them," Aang said.

"And I wouldn't say I'm there yet, either," Sokka said. "But we kinda do have to get along, yanno?"

"Whatever," Katara said. "I'm gonna go look for mushrooms or something." She stomped away from them and violently climbed a vine up to the forest.

From his corner, Zuko said, "Maybe I could to talk to her. Work something out."

"It's your funeral," Sokka said. "Me, I'm going to bed. My fish-catching arm needs energy."

He meandered off, humming tunelessly, flexing his fingers.

Aang turned to Zuko and shrugged. "She might put you in a block of ice. Are you okay with that?"

"I was thinking she would try to slice me into thirds with a water razor," Zuko said. "So the ice block scenario sounds pretty ideal."

Either way, it was worth a try.

Maybe.

Honestly, he didn't blame Katara. When he mentally reviewed all of their interactions, particularly the one prior to his 'acceptance' into the group, he saw the source of her reactions. Zuko even thought he could understand them, a little bit. When they were imprisoned together in the crystal catacombs, they had established a connection--however briefly.

Her angry lecture rang in his ears: she had said he was a terrible person, that he was bent on capturing the world's one hope for peace, and so forth. He had bit back--what did she know? How could she comprehend how he had suffered, how he had clawed and fought his way through sickness of every kind, stained himself with blood and sweat? Katara spat names and accusations as though he were evil incarnate, when he was only doing what he_ had_ to do. What was the fate of the world in comparison to his father's contempt? Residual anger at both his and Katara's ignorance prickled at his stomach as he crashed through the forest, upsetting ferns and cutting through nettles with his swords. Frogs leapt nervously out of his way.

In the midst of her rage, Katara had crumpled to her knees, and she had sobbed. Her brown-sugar cheeks flushed and shone, her eyes pressed shut, she gripped her knees to her chest and cried for a loss more profound than she could describe. And she named the Fire Nation as the executioner.

Zuko's heart jangled at the word 'mother,' the word 'taken.' To her shaking back, he said that they had something in common. Back then, it wasn't something he could explain well. He had tried, haltingly. She had listened with more attention and patience than he deserved, or thought possible. And then, incredibly, she had apologized for shouting at him, and offered him the sacred water from the spirit oasis, for his scar.

She was reacting to him the same way he had reacted to her, because they had both endured the worst lack imaginable, the gaping void where a mother should have been, but where instead was silence. Even the cadences of his mother's voice were lost to him, and at that time he was sure he would never recover them. He knew he still might not. But Katara had no hope of the possibility.

Disquieted, Zuko slowed down his raze of the undergrowth. He could hear a stream nearby. Peering through the vines and branches, Zuko saw Katara standing ankle-deep in the water, her arms moving artfully, her legs poised, her small muscles taut. Her breath was slow and even, but the concentration on her face was intense, colored by something darker than discipline.

"Katara," Zuko said, by way of announcing himself. The syllables rolled gently off his tongue, foreign and new. He was unused to her name, having always referred to her as "peasant" or "that water tribe girl" in the past.

Her arms dropped to her sides. "What do you want?"

Her tunic was neatly folded on the bank of the stream. Her swimming outfit was white and form-fitting, bright against her skin, luminous in the moonlight. The moon, Zuko noticed, was full, and Katara's body was powerfully outlined against it. His breath faltered, and for a moment, he didn't say anything.

"Hello!" she said, throwing a wet globe at him. It splashed, cold, onto his shirt.

Shocked, Zuko tripped over a cluster of roots and landed on his knees in front of her. "I, I just came to talk," he spluttered, hastily regaining his footing. He tried to joke while he wrung out his shirt, "I didn't know mushrooms grew underwater."

Katara plunged her hand into the stream and yanked up a fistful of limp, gilled mushrooms, their ridges flat and shiny against her palms. She said, meaningly, "Fungus grows everywhere."

"Well, uh, there you go, then."

She let the morels fall back into the stream. "What have you got to say?"

He braced himself. "I know I made a mistake at Ba Sing Se."

"A mistake?! That's the _nice_ word for what you did." Her lips were curled, her fists clenched, her teeth gritted. He recognized the creases in her cheeks, beneath her eyes, the quaking, quenchless anger. The humiliation and the betrayal all reflected back at him, and it seemed suddenly that he stood before a mirror, rather than a girl.

"You manipulated me!" she shouted. "You lied, and because of you, Aang almost died ... No. He did die. And, and to think, I almost used that special water on your face--I was ready, you know? I was ready to try, to give you that second chance." She laughed harshly. "Stupid, right? Silly me, buying into all that stuff about losing your mother, about how you were just like me!" The stream hissed and frothed around her ankles. She took a step towards him, thin water whips shimmering in her hands.

Zuko said, in a small voice, "I didn't lie."

One whip lashed his neck, leaving a livid welt.

"Stop it," Katara growled, taking another step. "Just stop it!"

He offered his bare arms to her, head bowed, as when he had asked to be taken prisoner.

"If this is what you need to do," he said, "I accept it."

She lifted her arms above her head, the whips writhing like they were alive. The stream churned; Katara had created a maelstrom at her toes. She brought down the whips, but then stopped, millimeters from Zuko's exposed wrists. She drew back. Horrified tears ran down her cheeks.

"I hate you," she cried, and sunk into the water. "Leave me alone."

"I don't want you to be upset," he said, with a kind of desperate stupidity. When she didn't answer, he pressed on. "If I could just explain to you ..."

"Explain what! How different you are? How much you've _changed_? I won't fall for the same lines twice. You're going to have to come up with new material. Maybe about how your father never loved you."

Zuko winced. "Well, I'm not sure on that point, actually ..."

Katara's back slapped the water as she pitched herself into it, barbed laughter turning to bubbles. "So predictable."

Zuko punched the ground, and the grass sizzled under his knuckles. "I'm not a liar!"

Frustration was setting in. He could deal with a physical (or watery) assault, but these accusations were too much to bear. "Nothing I said to you in that cave was a lie. Not one single word. I did lose my mother because of the Fire Nation. I've missed her every day of my life, and I've cursed myself for not being able to do anything about it. The story I told you--about her disappearance, the last things she said to me--Katara, all of that was completely true."

"You told me that remembering her helped you realize that you didn't have to accept the destiny put on you by your father," Katara said. Her voice broke. "But when you had the chance, you didn't just accept it, you ... you ran at it, fists blazing. _Literally._"

Zuko sighed. "I know."

"So why then? If you weren't lying, why did you do that to Aang? To your uncle?" Then, quietly, "to me?"

"I thought I was making the right choice," he said. "I, I thought my father would change his mind about me. That Azula was really telling the truth for once."

"You're an idiot," Katara said.

He gently prodded the welt on his neck. "Pretty much."

Katara splashed over to him. "Let me look at it." She pressed her fingertips on either side of the wound, and her hands glowed translucent blue. Healing energy flowed into Zuko's veins, spreading a soothing coolness. The welt diminished. The irony of this situation was not lost on Zuko, but he decided not to spoil the moment.

"I shouldn't have attacked you like that," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he said hopefully. "For everything."

Katara re-submerged in the stream. "I can't forgive you."

"Oh."

"Not yet," Katara said. "Zuko, I believed in you. I believed you would do the right thing, and you just didn't. And I know you're trying now, okay? I see that. But I ... I'm so angry with you, still."

She twined a reed around her forefinger. "But maybe I can try a little harder. For the group's sake, of course."

"Of course," Zuko said.

She reclined again in the water, floating like a queen on a palanquin. "Now seriously. Leave me alone."

Zuko nodded. "Okay. Goodnight, Katara."

"Goodnight, Zuko."

He went back to the air temple, and found Aang waiting up for him.

"Soo," Aang said, glancing at Zuko's neck. "Good talk?"

Zuko allowed himself a small smile. "Yeah. It was."

END

notes: prince angerton is right, underwater mushrooms are very rare. but they do exist :


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